Shirt—>Rags

She looks at my shirt

crumpled

and worn out

pokes a finger through

one of the holes

signals me to come closer

“Why don’t you throw this one away?”

“But I like it.”

“I know, but this is embarrassing.”

she throws it in the trash

and soon

my favourite shirt

is being used for dusting my room

and cleaning my car

sometimes, when I am alone

in my car

I pick up the rag and smell it

hoping the fragrance

of the evenings we spent

at your Green Park house

is still there

but it isn’t

there is a turquoise blemish though

probably your nail paint

I better drive now

my neighbour just saw me

smelling a rag.

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